


and i'll look after you

by orphan_account



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Other, Sick Fic, V being a good boyfriend even tho MC is kind of a baby, emetophobia tw, gender neutral MC/Reader, mentions of V's real name which i don't think is spoilers but, mentions of sickness, mild v route spoilers, throwing up isn't actually described but just to be safe i'll add it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 03:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12202959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: sick!fic ft the best boyfriend in the world.





	and i'll look after you

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up feeling like death so this is v self-indulgent ;; I'm too tired to be sorry about it. Mild V-route spoilers. Like not necessarily story-wise, but definitely in terms of his personality. (Since we've seen so little of him before now.) There's also one lil bit of mention from the Normal end but, if you don't care too much about that, you're probably fine. That being said, I would absolutely suggest playing Another Story if you were on the fence bc it's so good. pls enjoy ♥
> 
> ( I'm also still getting used to Ao3 formatting, so if something seems off, feel free to let me know how to improve it )

 

 

 

There's a knock at the bathroom door, suddenly, from where you've been lying on the cool floor for about a half hour now. 

"Stay away," you croak through burning lungs, sweat gathering at the top of your forehead. It's been like this since you first woke, a fever laying just below the surface of your skin, now prominently needling its way through with unexpected tenacity.. _. Annoying_ tenacity, actually.  "I'm diseased." 

 _Even your voice sounds nauseating_ , you think. You don't have long to mope over it, as the door is pried open cautiously, and a familiar, pleasantly silken voice warns you, "I'm coming in." 

And, at once, you know it's a losing battle. When you catch sight of his perfectly composed figure, you fight the urge to cover the intense, purplish bags gathering under your eyes with a sleeve. The roots of your hair are slick with sweat, your insides are screaming to be let out, and you are positively certain you've never looked worse than you do in this moment. You whine into your fist for a second before turning onto your side, determined to avoid his gaze. "At least grab a mask, or something," you mumble to him, eyes burning with unshed tears. 

He takes careful steps to you in your fetal position -- real mature, by the way -- and crouches beside you. When his hands smooth back the hair from your forehead, you let out an incredibly resigned sigh. "Have you been like this all night?" V asks, tone soft. 

"Since I woke up," you answer, voice cracking.

"Have you had anything to drink?" 

"Nothing will stay down..." 

V sighs, as if expecting this answer. You grimace at the bordering nagging shift his voice takes next, "You have to drink anyway otherwise you'll become dehydrated. And you should be in bed, not _on the floor_." 

"I didn't trust myself," you grumble. You know better than to mention the fact that you still don't feel entirely comfortable in an apartment that isn't entirely yours; the whole ' _moving in together_ ' with a partner concept is gut wrenchingly new. The self-conscious parts of you keep screaming at you to keep everything pristine, that if you don't, V will surely leave for someone more put-together. Even though you know your lover isn't anything like that, the anxious voices in the back of your head tend to disagree and focus on the worst case scenarios. 

"You're silly," he tells you, but coming from him it sounds almost like a fond compliment. You _almost_ smile, until you can feel his arms sweeping under your legs and pulling you up with him. As your entire world spins, you moan miserably into your hand and V fixes you with a worried look. "What's wrong?"

"Dizzy," you bury your head in his shoulder. If he doesn't want to get sick, he should've stayed away when you told him to... "A little warning next time, maybe." 

"Of course," he replies easily, "I apologize. I just... Seeing you lying on the floor was a little... If you're worried about the bedroom being too far away, you can stay on the couch. I'll grab some covers from the closet and --" 

"Thank you, but you don't have to carry me; my legs work fine," you inform him, though a part of you is greatly amused. He flushes a little around the ears and you laugh hoarsely. 

"I didn't want you to fall and hurt yourself...Do you know how scary it was to see you lying there like that?" 

"The floor was nice and cold." 

"I'll get you an ice pack and some wet towels," he says firmly, and somehow the trip to the living room has not left you in a dizzier state than before. He gently lets you down on the sofa, as promised, and seems to resist the urge to smother you in blankets immediately. You kind of love him a little more for it. "Towels, covers..." He seems lost in his own thoughts before something occurs to him. "You need to drink," V says, almost accusingly. 

And with your throat burning the way it is, you can't find it in you to disagree with him, though the lurking thought of tossing _anything_ up again is daunting. "Okay, nurse. I'll abide your rules. Whatever you recommend, I'll try." 

"Nurse?" V's lips twitch, and you can practically see the tension roll out of his shoulders. Was he really that concerned? You melt a bit at the thought. "I'll get you some juice and towels. Is there anything else you can think of you'd like?" 

You turn so your cheek rests against the pillow and sigh. "Will you play something for me?" 

"I'm..." This time, you can hear him flushing rather than see it; the way he stutters, looking for the right words, which is just so uncommon for him. When you open your eyes, he appears contemplative. "You know I'm not..." 

"It doesn't have to be good," you say, perhaps a little too bluntly. "But even if you miss a lot of notes, there's no other sound in the world I'd rather fall asleep to, you know." 

"You have to drink something first," he decides, his voice full of all the firmness of a scolding parent, but his eyes full of something you easily recognize as warm fondness. 

God, you love him. 

He leaves you for a few moments. When he returns, he's holding a glass filled with what you suppose is probably orange juice, and you try not to grimace at the sight of it alone. But a promise is a promise. You sit up and take the glass with all the reluctance your exhausted body can manage. When you pinch your nose dramatically to swallow a gulp of the juice, V actually laughs. Once you make it about halfway, you decide that's good enough, because you can already feel your stomach protesting lightly at your audacity to keep it hydrated. 

"Your turn," you tell him, setting the glass aside. 

"I'll be back." 

And he does come back, violin in hand. You smile victoriously. 

"What's that look for?" V asks, returning your goofy smile easily. 

"I won." 

"It isn't winning if you already know I'd do anything to keep you happy," he muses, prepping the instrument diligently. "Which I know you are perfectly aware of." 

"I still won," comes your petulant reply. 

If he rolls his eyes before playing the beginning notes of a song, you aren't going to mention it. You can feel your eyes shutting involuntarily at the melodic sounds wafting your way, though you'd like nothing more to stay awake and watch him play -- it's your favorite thing in the world, watching him be passionate about anything. Whether it be photography, drawing, or music -- _anything_. You know the feeling is reciprocated by the way he hovers whenever you're frantic about one of your passions. 

"Jihyun," you murmur sleepily. There's a definitely off-kilter screech, then, like he's pulled too hard, too suddenly at the wrong string. You want to laugh, but exhaustion looms over you like an ever present shadow. The playing stops altogether when you add a soft, but mumbled, "Love you." 

You may not be coherent enough to hear his reply, just then, but he makes sure to say it often enough that _maybe_ that doesn't quite matter in the end. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> k, I absolutely do not remember what instrument he actually ends up picking up in the Normal route ( or if it even mentions it specifically ) but I gave him a violin bc ~ a e s t h e t i c ~


End file.
